Iduna's Apples (Valhalla Book 2)

by Jennifer Willis

  Sally sighed. She hadn’t told Opal the full story of the runes that acted more like Mexican jumping beans than any kind of oracle. And they had a nasty tendency to set things on fire. She was the Moon Witch—as Freya and Frigga kept reminding her when she doubted herself—but she’d started to wonder if she might be better off training as a lab tech or stenographer.

  Technically, Frigga had given her homework while she was supposedly on vacation, but Sally was tired and didn’t want to do any more exercises for focusing and training her magickal mind. Besides, Thor and Heimdall and the others would probably make a raucous return any minute now, fresh from victory over the Frost Giants.

  Then maybe they could go out for burgers or pizza or something. Sally was awfully tired of fish.

  She looked out the window at the fjord and the mountain. Maybe after getting Maggie back, everyone would be less tense, and she and Freyr could find some time together—

  Her phone beeped.

  “And no love spells!” Opal had IM’ed. “He’s too old for you, Sally, even if he wasn’t a deity.”

  Opal was right, and Sally knew it. But no matter how many times she told herself that a seventeen-year-old girl had no business getting involved with a millennia-old immortal, and that there was no way Freyr could ever think of her that way anyway, she couldn’t keep her heart from racing and her cheeks from blushing whenever he entered the room.

  “It will pass,” Opal wrote.

  “How do you do that?!” Sally started to type, but Opal had already responded.

  “Working on my telepathy. Didn’t I tell you? Gotta get to work. Catch you later.”

  Sally smiled. A lot had happened to Opal since she was called up with the Einherjar to do battle against Managarm and his Berserkers at the Battle of the White Oak. She was more confident in her own magick now. Instead of simply lighting a candle for the full moon or doing a spell to improve her grades at Portland State University, she was learning how to influence the weather and was doing spellwork with a Portland coven to clean Oregon’s rivers.

  She’d also gotten a part-time job at Powells with Saga. Sally sometimes wished she could trade places with her friend and let someone else carry the burden of being the Moon Witch for a while.

  Sally stared at her phone, hoping for another IM from Opal even though her friend had signed off. She pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and peered down at the bag she’d made out of her knitted cap and a length of ribbon. The runes appeared to have fallen silent.

  “About time.” Sally opened the pouch and poured the runes out onto the patchwork bedspread. She started turning them right-side-up, one by one, when the runes started to vibrate beneath her fingertips.

  Sally dropped her shoulders and sighed. “Not this again.” She started to collect the runes in her hands, to store them back in the drawer. But the runes still on the bedspread suddenly converged into a trembling heap, then pulled apart into two distinct groups. The runes in her hands leapt out of her grasp to join the others.

  She leaned over the two piles as the runes quivered and made sharp chattering noises that sent an unpleasant prickle along Sally’s spine. “Well, this is new.”

  She reached for Uruz, jittering on the top of the left-hand pile, and felt a familiar tingle on the pad of her thumb. She still bore the ox-horn brand there from the previous autumn. Just before her fingers made contact with the russet shell flake, she heard a scratching sound on the roof over her head.

  She frowned at the ceiling, about to dismiss the disturbance as a feisty squirrel, but then it sounded like two squirrels. Then three. Four. A moment later, Sally could have sworn at least a dozen ostriches were having a dance party on the roof.

  The runes were rattling like mad, beginning to lurch up off the bedspread like kernels of popcorn. They leapt higher and higher, and then suddenly were airborne, the two piles swirling separately in the air over the bed. There was a huge CRACK overhead, and Sally looked up to see a bulging rift start to zig-zag across the ceiling.

  The runes flew like bullets from a gun, slicing across Sally’s skin as they rocketed past to embed themselves in the walls on opposite sides of the room.

  Heart pounding wildly, Sally sank down onto the sheepskin rug and held the cuffs of her sweatshirt against the bleeding gashes in her face. “What’s happening!” she wanted to shout, but her voice came out as little more than a strangled whisper.

  Plaster dust rained down on her from above, and Sally looked up to find daylight starting to peek through the widening fault in the ceiling. She held her hands over her ears to dampen the sound of dozens of clawed feet dancing over her head, but she couldn’t drown out the high-pitched, squealing laughter that shredded her nerves and pricked her skin with a thousand icy needles.

  “The Frost Giants!” Sally’s scream caught in her throat. She couldn’t remember Heimdall saying anything about Frost Giants having claws or sounding like freakish ghouls with lungs full of helium, but she didn’t feel like sticking around to conduct an independent study on genus frostis giganticus. Moving fast, she scrambled across the floor to the bedroom closet and pulled the door shut.

  But isn’t this always where the girl hides from the monster, just before she gets ripped to pieces in the horror movies? Sally cringed.

  She reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone, and remembered she’d left it on the bedside table.

  On the other side of the closet door, the bedroom window shattered.

  Sally felt for the leather thong around her neck and pulled the smoky quartz pendant into her hands. She squeezed tight on Raido, the symbol engraved in the stone.

  “I place my fate in the lap of the gods,” she whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and envisioned herself surrounded by Thor, Odin, Freya, Heimdall, Saga and every deity—Norse or otherwise—that she could remember, but then at the periphery of her imagination she saw her cat, Baron, and Heimdall’s dog, Laika, doing a clumsily coordinated line dance. She started to giggle.

  The sound of the plaster ceiling collapsing onto her bed just yards away snapped her back into focus. The shrill cackling sounded again, but from much closer.

  Her breath was coming in quick spasms now. Sally felt Raido digging into the palm of her hand as she gripped her pendant. Think! Raido, rune of travel, of union, of secret missions . . .

  “Secret!” Sally practically shouted in excitement, then immediately clapped a hand over her own mouth. She heard many pairs of clawed-feet scrabbling around her room now. Had she given herself away?

  Closing her eyes, Sally took a deep breath to calm herself. She imagined the color blue, swirling in a mist around her body and then forming a shimmering perimeter across the closet walls, ceiling, and floor. She lifted a hand to draw a snaking pattern of Algiz, Isa, and Uruz on the air, and sent the sigil into the blue shield.

  “The art of subtle protection,” Sally breathed. “Thank you, Frigga.”

  14

  Apples bulged out of their clothing and threatened to spill from their heavily laden serving bowls as Thor and Thiassen hustled down the shadowy passageway. The others were farther along the sloping, twisting corridor, with the apple-bearers bringing up the rear.

  A thunderous boom echoed from the great hall behind them as the ceiling collapsed.

  “Is there any way to close off the passageway?” Thor called to Thiassen a few paces ahead.

  “No!” Thiassen shouted back. “Down below, we can seal ourselves off.”

  The giant took a sharp corner and spilled a few apples. Thor stooped to retrieve them as fast as he could. He tossed the last stray rocks out of the bodice of the wedding gown and shoved the apples in.

  Another huge crash from the great hall echoed off the passageway’s polished walls, followed by loud, high-pitched voices and the unmistakable sound of sharp nails clawing across stone.

  Balancing the serving bowl beneath one arm, Thor pressed the other hand flat against Thiassen’s back and pushe
d him forward.

  “MOVE!” he bellowed. “They’re inside!”

  Thiassen sped up, and Thor hustled after him. Coming around a sharp bend, Thiassen nearly mowed over the others moving more slowly down the passageway. Maggie still shouldered most of Loki’s weight, while Freya and Saga supported Heimdall. Iduna was a white wisp at the head of the party, sandwiched between Geirrod and Valthrudnir.

  Thor tossed a few apples from his bowl to the failing gods.

  “Here!” he shouted. “Eat these and keep moving—the devils have breached the fortress!”

  “Heimdall!” Saga caught an apple and thrust it into Heimdall’s face as they half-jogged farther downward. “Come on!”

  He grunted something unintelligible and managed to sink his teeth part-way into the fruity flesh. Freyr kept one hand on the wall as he followed behind and chomped down on an apple.

  At the head of the pack, Geirrod took a sharp left turn, and the group found themselves practically sliding down a more steeply pitched, spiraling course.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Freyr shouted, spraying bits of apples onto the close walls.

  “We will be safe in the cellar!” Thrym called over his shoulder. “We can seal the doors and hold them back.”

  “Just how I always wanted to spend my vacation,” Thor grumbled at Thiassen’s back. “Locking myself in a giant’s dungeon.”

  “This is NOT a dungeon!” Thiassen stumbled on the stone floor as the rocks underfoot became more uneven.

  Thor grabbed the back of the giant’s shirt and helped him regain his feet—then pressed him forward. Thor glanced over his shoulder for any sign of imminent attack. It looked like the Køjer Devils hadn’t yet started exploring the passageway, but they weren’t called devils for no reason. Thor had no illusions about safety, and the silence was as much a warning as would be one of the devils reaching out and clawing the tapestried gown right off his back.

  “Dungeon or not,” Thor huffed. “Let’s just hurry up and get there.”

  They spiraled their way down what Thor guessed was at least another three levels deeper into the mountain before the craggy floor leveled out. The dark passage ended at a heavy wooden door, standing slightly ajar.

  Thrym threw his weight against it, and the door creaked farther open. He stood in the doorway and motioned the others inside. “This way. There is room for everyone.”

  Thor was the last to enter. While Thiassen set about lighting a series of lanterns mounted on the dingy walls, the other three giants worked together to push the door closed again.

  “Three giants to close a single door,” Thor muttered as he set the apples down on a heavy wooden table. “That must be some door.”

  Thiassen pulled a massive iron key from his belt and turned it in the door’s lock. “There,” he pronounced, with only a hint of weary uncertainty.

  Thor offered him a quick nod. “For what it’s worth, thanks.”

  In the flickering lantern light, Maggie guided Loki to the wall and let him lean against a large barrel while she stretched her arms over her head and tried to massage the feeling back in her left shoulder. Freyr and Heimdall slumped to the floor and rested their heads back against the cool, stone wall. Thor sat down next to them, his own eyes beginning to flutter.

  “That took a lot out of all of us, I think.” Thor reached into the bodice of his half-torn dress and fumbled for a few apples. He dropped one in Freyr’s lap and passed another to Maggie, who by this time was kneeling beside Heimdall, resting her hand against his brow.

  Thor held up a third apple to Iduna. “Kind of strange offering you your own fruit . . .” He attempted a smile.

  “I’ve had plenty,” Iduna replied, turning her back on him.

  Saga stood above Maggie and shook her head. Heimdall was fading fast.

  “I tried giving him one on the way down,” Saga said. “I couldn’t get him to eat.”

  Freya tossed Saga an apple from the serving bowls on the table, and the goddesses munched slowly, watching Thor, Freyr, and Loki wolf down one after another.

  “But he seemed okay,” Maggie protested. “He was on his feet, taking charge. And now . . .”

  She lifted an apple to Heimdall’s lips, but he was still unable to take a bite. “Come on, honey. You need this.”

  Maggie turned to Saga for help, but as soon as she’d opened her mouth, Heimdall slumped sideways onto the cold floor.

  “Heimdall!” Maggie grabbed at his shoulders and tried to pull him back up to sitting, but an unconscious god was entirely too heavy for her to lift.

  Saga helped her position Heimdall more comfortably on his back, and pulled a sack of flour off a nearby shelf to serve as a pillow. Noticing the shelves and cabinets loaded with food staples, she glanced up at Geirrod.

  “What is this room?” she asked.

  Geirrod gestured toward the shelves and barrels. “It is our cellar pantry.” He shot Thor an exasperated look. “Not a dungeon.”

  Thor inhaled another apple and shrugged in hollow apology. “How many of these apples have you fellows eaten already?”

  Geirrod glanced to Thrym, but his king looked away. Geirrod turned back to Thor. “Enough to have regained our strength.”

  Still seated against the wall, Thor nodded glumly at Heimdall, on his back on the floor with the women huddled around him. “See what your theft has done? Odin himself lies in a similar state, back in Oregon.”

  “What is this place, Oregon?” Geirrod stammered. “It sounds enchanted—”

  Thrym stepped up behind Geirrod and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “It was not our intention to do harm,” Thrym offered. “We will do what we can to right this wrong.”

  “Heimdall!” Freya shouted at her comatose cousin. “Open your mouth!”

  Loki leaned over from his barrel perch. “Maggie, is this what I was like?”

  She looked up with frantic tears in her eyes. “Yes. Worse. I guess you’d been like this for days, when I was first brought here.”

  She looked around the room for Geirrod. The giant stepped forward and inclined his head.

  “Do you require my service?”

  Maggie turned on her knees to face him. “A mortar and pestle!”

  He frowned and cocked his head to one side.

  She raised her hands in exasperation. “Like before, remember? I need a mortar and pestle! Right now!”

  The giant lifted his hands in futility. “I do understand. But that was the only one we had. I believe it resides still in Loki’s chamber.”

  With a loud sigh, Saga climbed to her feet and jogged across the room to the table in the corner. She dumped the contents of one of the serving bowls onto the table’s surface and hurried back to Maggie. Behind her, loose apples rolled across the table and dropped onto the floor.

  Saga rested the bowl next to Maggie. “What else?”

  “Something to grind the apples.”

  Saga was on her feet again and headed back to the table. She grabbed an armload of stray apples and a heavy candlestick.

  Maggie smiled at the candlestick’s broad base. “Good thinking.”

  Saga dropped the apples into the bowl and started pounding them with the makeshift pestle. “What are we trying to do here, just make a mash?” Saga grunted with the effort of grinding.

  Maggie touched Heimdall’s face and winced at the discolored bruise at his brow. “More of a juice.” She looked up again at Geirrod. “Is there any water down here?”

  Geirrod’s worried face broke into a broad smile. “Why, of course!” He gestured toward the barrel on which Loki was sitting.

  Loki lifted his eyebrows. “I guess you need me to get down.”

  He slid off the barrel and lifted its wooden lid. Light reflected up off the water’s surface and undulated across his pale face. “It’s nearly full.”

  Loki reached for the metal dipper slung to the barrel’s side on a leather thong.

  “Mix it in, a little at a time,” Maggi
e directed. Heimdall’s breath was now more shallow, and she tried not to panic. She reminded herself of how long Loki had lain unmoving, seemingly near death.

  Loki walked carefully across the floor, so as not to spill even a drop of water from the dipper. Saga lifted the bowl, and he poured in half the water. Saga started grinding again, breaking the apples down into a mushy pulp.

  Freya leaned over and looked down into the bowl. “How did you know to do this?”

  She glanced to a shadowy corner where Iduna had settled herself. “Is this your magick?”

  Iduna shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not me. That’s all Maggie.”

  Maggie stroked Heimdall’s hair. “It worked for Loki. He wouldn’t eat or drink. Bread, apple slices, water. Nothing worked.” She shook her head, her long hair spilling into her face and sticking to her damp cheeks. “Honestly, I just tried everything I could think of.”

  Saga lifted the bowl to Loki. “A little more.”

  Loki emptied the dipper into the bowl then walked back to the barrel, poised to retrieve more water upon request. Saga kept grinding. She nudged Maggie when a layer of liquid began to appear on top of the apple mush.

  Geirrod pulled an empty cup from one of the high shelves on the wall. He handed it to Maggie.

  “Odd-tasting,” Maggie commented as Saga raised the bowl to pour the apple-liquid into the cup. Maggie lifted Heimdall’s head to dribble some of the liquid into his mouth. “I mean, they’ve got some juice, but they leave my mouth feeling really dry, you know?”

  Her heart leapt when she saw Heimdall’s throat muscles contract. “There! See?” She poured more into his mouth.

  Freya knelt down beside Maggie. “You ate these apples?”

  Tears rolled down Maggie’s cheeks as Heimdall swallowed the last of the apple-water. He coughed slightly, but his eyes remained closed. She set the empty cup on the floor and turned to Saga. “More.”

  Freyr crawled across the floor and gathered up some of the apples that had fallen from the table. He rolled several across the stone floor to Saga, then tossed a few more to Thor, still resting against the wall.